


Been There, Done That

by mondragons



Category: Kindred - Octavia E. Butler
Genre: Gen, One Shot, oh also this takes place after the events of the book, so if that stuff bothers you you probably shouldnt read ;;, this mentions some old 70s new age stuff and all the things that go with that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-02
Updated: 2016-05-02
Packaged: 2018-06-06 00:27:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6729859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mondragons/pseuds/mondragons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"What do we have to do with Harris Wilson?" asked Kevin sternly.</p>
<p>Truman sighed, and leaned back in the chair. "Please hear me out," he started, a sudden weariness growing in his eyes, "I don't think either of you really have anything to do with him, but if you have the connection that I think you do, then we really need to talk. If I'm right, you're the only people who will understand."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Been There, Done That

**Author's Note:**

> back in english 10A, we read Kindred and had to do a rewrite or continue the story in some way and create characters based on photographs that we looked at in class. this was six or seven months ago, but i just stumbled upon the file and i realized that it's not a terrible story. i don't have any plans to continue it, but i thought i'd share it anyway! ((also sorry for any spacing issues, im pretty new ;;))

1976 had been a hot year, especially for Los Angeles. This observation didn’t go unnoticed by one man, who happened to be very overdressed in what was probably an attempt to look professional. He stepped out of his car and briskly walked up to the door of a small house, sweating all the while. He rapped sharply and tried to wipe his face of moisture, to no real avail.  
The door opened to reveal a man with grey hair and pale eyes.  
“Hello. Can I help you?” He asked.  
“Possibly.” Responded the other man, fumbling around his heavy coat, in pursuit of something. “I’m Special Agent Truman DeFoe.” He said, flashing the FBI badge he had been fishing for. “Does Edana Franklin live here?”  
The man in the door seemed surprised. “Yes. Uh, please come in.”  
Truman stepped in, smiling gratefully as the cool air rushed around him. “What’s your name?” he asked.  
“Oh, I’m Kevin Franklin. I’m Dana’s husband.”  
“Pleasure to meet you.”

Kevin hurried off to find Dana and Truman looked about him. There were shelves full of books, towering above him. They filled the whole room. He marveled at the massive amount of literature before him, there must’ve been hundreds of books in that one living room, or that’s how it seemed. He was so absorbed in the collection that when people entered the room, he hadn’t noticed.  
“Hello.” said a voice, and Truman jolted. “I’m Dana.”  
Truman turned around. A woman stood before him. She was black with short hair. She had no left arm.  
“Is something wrong?” she asked.  
“No. I’m just here to ask some questions.”  
“Questions about what?” Kevin said, almost defensively. They had not been home long.  
Truman analyzed their faces. They were tense, upset, confused. He knew the feeling.  
“Questions about your family,” he said slowly, trying to be polite, “About your arm. Questions about Harris Wilson.”

-

Everyone now sat in the living room seats, Kevin and Dana on the couch, Truman on a chair facing them. The air in the room grew taut. The air conditioning didn’t prevent anyone from sweating now.  
“What do we have to do with Harris Wilson?” demanded Dana.  
Harris Wilson was a well known criminal, a cult leader responsible for the suicides of 39 people. The death of everyone within his compound, with the exception of himself. He was at the forefront of a controversy, as he had been released on bail. Many considered him an atrocity to mankind and protests against his release had spread throughout the United States.

“How did you lose your arm?” Truman asked, changing the subject.  
“It was self-defense.” Dana said. Kevin stared coldly at the agent, unable to hide his sensitivity to the subject. Neither were afraid, they had seen too much to be afraid, but they were strained. Lying to federal agents is illegal, after all.  
Truman coughed.  
“What do we have to do with Harris Wilson?” asked Kevin sternly.  
Truman sighed, and leaned back in the chair. “Please hear me out,” he started, a sudden weariness growing in his eyes, “I don’t think either of you really have anything to do with him, but if you have the connection that I think you do, then we really need to talk. If I’m right, you’re the only people who will understand.”  
Dana and Kevin stared hard. “What do you mean?” Dana asked, quieter than she had intended.

-

Truman started, “It was a year ago that all this started for me. 1975 was a great year for my branch of the FBI, we were taking criminals down left and right. We could do anything. That’s really what we thought. A new religious compound cropped up in Vermont, one of those ‘New Age’ things. Rumors had started spreading about the compound hoarding illegal items, it was said that they had narcotics, they had guns, bombs, the materials for biological warfare. I went undercover to investigate, and was welcomed into the compound.  
“The major belief of what they called ‘The Old Time Religion’ was that of time travel. They said Harris Wilson could travel into the past, and as such, he must be the second coming of Christ. I went along with it because I had to if I wanted to blend in. As time went by, people whispered, they said that at any moment Harris would travel to the past.”  
“One night, at dinner, we were all sat in the dining hall when Harris, sat up at the end of the table, started screaming. He tried to stand up and kept falling back, over and over. I thought he was dying and ran towards him. As I approached the end of the table, Harris fell out of his chair and was silent. I collapsed to my knees and slid up next to him, grabbing his chest, then everything went dark."

“Suddenly it was frigid, and it remained dark. Someone screamed in the distance. I was shoved to the side and landed onto what I believed was the floor. I was disoriented, due to the darkness and the cold. I realized I was outside, laying in snow, and that the screaming hadn’t stopped. It sounded like a child. I regained my sensibilities and rushed toward the sound.”  
“I ran through the dark. My eyes adjusted just as I approached a tree line. I didn’t stop running, dodging trees and after some time, came upon the child, as well as Harris Wilson. He towered over the kid, a small boy with red hair and mixed skin. He continued screaming and Harris leaned down and grabbed him, cradling him close to his body. The boy didn’t stop wailing the whole time. Harris turned to take the child out of the trees and stopped when he saw me.”  
“We just stared at each other. I couldn’t think of anything to say, I was so confused. Harris pushed past me and I followed mindlessly, fearing the bitter cold would swallow me up. There was no sound except the child. We walked forever.”  
“After so much time, the boy ceased his screams and eventually, we came upon a large house at the edge of the wood. A woman in a dress stood in the snow, holding a lantern and sobbing. A little girl stood at her side, quietly crying. The snow crunched under our feet as we approached them. The woman rushed toward us and grabbed the child. He screamed with renewed vigor and waved his arms about wildly. The woman and the children hurried towards the house, Harris in tow. I followed him, not knowing what else to do.”

“Once inside the house, everyone sat in an old living room where a fire was burning, large and hot. The woman sat down on a sofa and rocked her child back and forth. Many people were rushing around. One person grabbed a pan of water, another threw wood on the fire, another grabbed the little girl and carried her away, and still more whirled about the room. Harris kneeled down in front of the woman and with some effort, grabbed the boy’s flailing arms and started to examine them. As I watched, I observed that the boy’s fingers were red but got whiter every moment. The child had frostbite.”  
“As the people I now know as slaves worked to unfreeze the boy’s hands, Harris finally approached me. He never knew I was with the FBI so he spoke softly, trying to calm me down. He told me where we were, who the kids were and about his family. The little boy, whose name I learned was Joe, was his distant ancestor, and his little sister’s name was Hagar. He told me that we might be there a while.”

“We ended up there for months. I learned from the children’s grandmother, Margaret, what had happened to their mother, as well as their son. She spoke of a woman who didn’t belong with them, a black woman who dressed like a man and spoke like a white person. She spoke of a woman named Dana Franklin.”  
“When we finally returned home, I learned that I had been gone for a day. No one had worried or missed me, not a single soul. No one even knew I was gone, with the exception of those in the compound. It wasn’t long after that they killed themselves. I don’t know why, you’d have to ask Harris, I suppose, but I needed to tell someone this story. I looked you up as soon as possible, and there you were, mysteriously missing your arm, seeming different, I knew I had to find you. I had to. Please, Dana… Kevin… you believe me, don’t you?”  


Dana and Kevin stared, their jaws agape, and nodded slowly.


End file.
